


Burn It Down

by megsblackfire



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Adorable, Angst, Death but no one is perma-dead, Fluff, Kombat tournament, Lots of different Pairings, Multi, OCs to pad out the cast, Universe Alterations, adorable ferret-dragon, crack ship, crack ship?, just assume that everyone shows up - Freeform, there are too many characters to try and tag, what's a ferret-dragon?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26824558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megsblackfire/pseuds/megsblackfire
Summary: When he was young, Erron Black made a deal that shaped the rest of his life. He's ruthless, cunning, and unrelenting, traits that make him very attractive to potential clients. That much hasn't changed, but the inclusion of Shinnok's Amulet throws a wrench into everything he has going for him at the moment.That old deal makes it very clear where his loyalties lie and it isn't with Shinnok. He wasn't keen on Earthrealmers, but they were the best chance he had at keeping himself alive and fulfilling his end of the bargain.
Relationships: Erron Black/Ermac, Sonya Blade & Johnny Cage, Sonya Blade/Noob Saibot | Bi-Han
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, let's take a second crack at the absolutely massive idea that latched onto my Erron Black/Kano fic. This time, everything's going to be coherent from the beginning and not have Netherrealm gods pop in out of nowhere. We good? Great! Let's go.

Erron clutched the reins as he rode. He kept glancing over his shoulder, certain that lawmen were on his tail. He’d stolen a horse from his father’s stables, one that was owned by some businessman passing through town; he was certain to go to the sheriff about this. There was no way they weren’t hunting him at this very moment, trigger fingers itching for a chance to kill him. Fear gripped his heart and he tried to make the horse go faster, but his legs were too short to give the horse an insistent jab with his spurs.

It was the dead of night and he had waited to escape his family’s hotel after everyone was asleep. He hadn’t let the horse run until he was far enough away that no one would hear the heavy hooves on the packed dirt roads. Still, he was terrified that someone had heard him and had alerted his father and then the sheriff. He wasn’t going back; not to swing and not to his family.

He rode through the night, feeling the exhaustion hanging on him. The horse trotted along contently, showing no signs of fatigue. Having a boy in the saddle and only a small bag of supplies was probably much easier to carry than an overweight man and his luggage. It wasn’t until he saw the sun starting to peek over the horizon that he slowed the horse to a walk and looked for somewhere to make camp where he wouldn’t be spotted.

A small clearing caught his eye and he stopped the horse to dismount. His legs felt like jelly and he almost fell right onto his butt. He swallowed, gripping the reins tightly to keep from falling over. He took a deep breath and started forward, tugging the horse along with him. The gentle beast followed without question, nosing at his shoulder like it knew he needed comfort. It was probably just after something to eat, but he liked to think that he was special to the horse for getting it away from the fat man that smelt like liquor and tobacco.

He hobbled the horse after making sure he was hidden from the road and sprawled on his back. The horse grazed quietly nearby, completely unphased by all that was happening around it. Erron stared up at the sky, watching as it changed from pink and yellow to the purest of blue. Clouds drifted lazily by, blown by a wind that barely disturbed the leaves around him. He fell asleep without meaning to, lulled by the calmness of the world around him.

He woke to nails combing slowly through his hair. His eyes snapped open and a gasp caught in his throat. He stared up into a pair of pitch black eyes framed by white lashes. He wanted to scramble away from the woman, but his fear kept him glued to his spot on the ground. His head was pillowed on her thigh, supported by a strange dress that looked like it was made of fur, scales, and feathers.

“Finally awake, little one?” the woman smiled at him. 

Sharp fangs gleamed behind her lips, the bottoms of which poked out from behind her upper lip. There was a sharpness to her features that set him on edge, reminding him of an eagle or a hawk. She moved her head and her black hair tumbled over her shoulders, streaked with red so pure and vibrant that it hurt to look at. Long, conical ears rose from the top of her head, almost like a deer’s, but somehow less cute.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

“A friend.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Does that mean I’m not a friend?”

“You can’t be a friend if I don’t know you. Strangers aren’t friends.”

“Not at first. What I meant was that I’m not a threat to you. So, if I’m not a threat, I must be a friend, right?”

Erron frowned. “I… guess? But what’s your name?”

The woman’s smile widened. “Ignara.”

“Ignara,” Erron repeated. Something about the name made his mouth feel funny, like it was a few seconds away from bursting in flames. “How did you find me? I made sure I was hidden. You aren’t going to bring me back to Wickett, are you?”

“No,” Ignara’s sharp claws dragged slowly through his hair. “No, you don’t have to go back to that town.”

“Good. Because I’m never going back. Ever. You can’t make me!”

“Ssh, little one,” Ignara soothed. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. A sense of calm overcame him and he sank back down onto her thigh, his eyelids fluttering shut. “Do not worry. I have a different destination in mind for you. How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

“Not a bad age. You’re a little small.”

“Ma said it’s because I’m sickly. I think Pa’s beatings made me stunted.”

He felt the pinpricks of claws against his scalp. The soothing motion resumed a moment later, but Ignara’s posture changed slightly. She hunched over him, reminding him again of an eagle, and he swallowed nervously.

“I want you to answer me truthfully, little one,” she said. “If you could, would you kill your father?”

“Yes.”

Erron answered without hesitation. He knew that killing people was a sin and that he would go to Hell to burn forever for thinking something like that, but his father deserved it. His father deserved to have his brains blown out all over the walls of his hotel. He deserved to die violently. He didn’t deserve to live after what he’d done to Erron and his sisters.

“Sit up.”

Erron did as Ignara instructed. He met her gaze and swallowed, knowing that he was staring at someone very, very dangerous. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but there was something about the way she carried herself, even sitting, that screamed that she was dangerous. He was staring into the eyes of a predator beyond anything he had ever met and he was both scared and enthralled.

“Do you understand what you said, Erron Black?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you?”

Erron nodded. “I want my father to die. Violently.”

“How so?”

“I want someone to shoot him in the head. I want him buried so that no one can see his face. I want him to stand before the Judges of Hell with a gaping hole in his head to match the one in his heart.”

Ignara’s features were hard. She reached out and cupped his chin in her hand. The back of her hand was scaled like a lizard and her nails were as thick as awls. It scared him, but her touch was feather-light and did not break the skin.

“Do you understand what you are saying?”

“Yes. I know I’m going to Hell for thinking it, but I don’t care!”

“Hell doesn’t exist, little one,” Ignara smiled. “It is a place created by humans to control the masses.”

“Then… where do sinners go when they die if there is no Hell?”

“The same place that everyone goes.”

“Are they punished?”

“Depends on who receives those souls.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, some gods don’t care about murder, but others will eradicate a particularly cruel soul. Others will enslave that soul so that they can experience the pain that they have inflicted onto others. Some just cleanse the soul and send it on its way.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you like sinner’s souls?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“You’re a god, aren’t you?”

Ignara’s grin was contagious and Erron found himself returning it.

“Now, why do you think I’m a god?”

“Your eyes are black. I’ve never seen anyone with eyes like that.”

“Just the eyes?”

“Your ears too, but it’s polite to only mention the eyes.”

“I have a tail too.”

Erron looked behind her, desperate to see if she was telling the truth. A long, white tail was curled up behind her, tipped by a red and white fluff that reminded him of a donkey. 

“Whoa.”

He looked up at Ignara and swallowed. “What are gods like?” he whispered.

“We’re not much different from people. Some are good, some are mean, but most are somewhere in between.”

“Are you good?”

Ignara was silent for a moment. “I try to be. To those that don’t deserve to be harmed.”

“Like me?”

She smiled and ruffled his hair. “Yes, like you, little one.” Her face grew serious and he leaned forward to make sure he heard what she had to say next. “I’m going to ask something of you, Erron Black, something that you need to think carefully about. If I gave you the power to do so, would you kill for me?”

Erron stared at her. “Killing is bad, isn’t it?” he whispered. “Jeromy always said that you shouldn’t kill if you can avoid it. That it leaves your soul scarred.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” Ignara nodded. “Killing for pleasure harms the soul, but all wounds heal with time. You are young, but I do not offer this bargain lightly.”

Erron frowned and looked at his lap. “Who would I kill?”

“Anyone.”

“Kids?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t want to kill kids.”

“I will not ask you to.”

“But you said that I maybe have to kill kids?”

“I cannot tell you who to kill, only that you offer their souls to me when you do so.”

“Why?”

Ignara looked at him for a moment. He wanted to demand more answers, but something about her stern expression cooled his curious nature. He had to be patient and wait for her to respond, not just make demands. She had no reason to answer him, even if she was asking him to do something Jeromy had always told him not to do.

But Jeromy wasn’t here anymore. He’d left and never come home. Erron had waited. He’d tried to be patient, hoping that Jeromy was going to ride back into town with an outlaw band at his back and sweep Erron off into the wilds. But he never did. He left to join the army and never come back; Erron hadn’t received a letter in months, not since Ma got that letter from the lieutenant that made her scream and cry. He was gone and Erron was all alone.

He hadn’t realized he was crying until Ignara wiped his tears away.

“I cannot claim the souls of the dead without alerting very bad gods to my existence,” Ignara said. “I need many, many souls to get stronger and hopefully kill them myself one day, but I need help to do that.”

“If I do this for you,” Erron swallowed, “if I kill people, will… will you bring my brother back?”

Erron had seen people in pain before. Mary almost always cut herself while peeling potatoes, once so badly that she didn’t have a thumbprint for almost a month. He would always remember the wide eyes, constricted pupils, and funny mouth shape she had right before she started crying and cursing. Ignara’s mouth wasn’t scrunched up like Mary’s did, but the look of pain was in her eyes.

“Erron, I can’t do that,” she said. 

“But gods can do anything. I’ll kill for you and you bring my brother back!”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Erron demanded. “You’re a god!”

“Even gods have limitations, Erron.”

“Bullshit! Ma said that God made the world in seven days! That He made heaven and earth, the sun and the sky! You can bring my brother back!”

“That ‘God’ isn’t real! He’s a fabrication made by humans to feel better about their existence! I can’t bring your brother back; he’s… he’s gone, Erron. He’s gone.”

“Liar!” Erron screamed and jumped to his feet. “Bring him back right now! I want my brother back!”

“He’s dead, Erron.”

“No!” He stamped his foot, feeling tears building in his eyes. “No, he’s not dead! He told me that he was coming back! He promised! Jeromy never breaks his promises! Never!”

Ignara’s mouth twisted as she reached up and easily grasped his wrists. He stared into her black eyes and knew, in his heart, that Jeromy was dead, that he was never coming back, and that there was nothing that Ignara could do for him even if he wanted her to.

“Gods are supposed to be all-powerful,” he whispered.

“We have our limitations,” Ignara shook her head. “We’re powerful, yes, but…. We can’t do everything we wanted. If we could, the universe would be very, very different.”

“Is… is Jeromy’s soul gone forever?”

“No. One day, he’ll be reborn, but he won’t be Jeromy anymore.”

“I miss him.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“I miss my siblings too. Some are dead, but some are just forever out of reach.” She held her hand out and gently curled her claws into her scaly palm. “I can only rely on myself and know that I’m doing this for them.”

“I’ll help you,” Erron whispered. “I promise to send every soul I kill to you. Tell me how and I’ll do it.”

“And what do you want in return, Erron?”

“I want my father dead.”

“Erron, look at me.” He did. “What I’m asking you to do is beyond one little task. I want you to stare into my eyes, let your heart open, and tell me what you want.”

Erron did as she instructed and stared deep into her black eyes. Vistas opened before him, each one more stunning, terrifying, and beautiful than the last. He saw thousands of animals racing before him, some perfect for hunting and others just to be watched and be awed. He felt a bond blossoming in his chest, coiling protectively around him as something roared impossibly loud. Finally, he felt warm, weathered lips on his, a promise he knew he was too young to understand, but longed to hear.

Words started tumbling out of his mouth, sealing a deal with a god he had never heard of. The words he said were foreign to him; he had no idea what language he was speaking, but the meaning came from his heart.

Ignara took his hand in hers and cut a thin line into his palm. He hissed in pain and swallowed his whimper as she did the same to hers. Golden blood dripped onto his wet palm before she pressed her wound over his. He gasped as power soared up his arm, seeping into every fiber of his being as their pact was made. He stared into Ignara’s eyes and willingly pledged his soul to the Firelord.


	2. Book 1 Tournament: Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say this was going to be a small project? NOPE, I LIED. MY BRAIN DECIDED THAT WE'RE REDOING ALL OF THE MODERN TRILOGY. FIXING PLOT HOLES, SMOOTHING OUT CONTINUITY. WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF?!
> 
> Strap in, folks. This is going to be one hell of a long ass ride.

Erron eased himself into the hot spring, groaning as the incredibly hot water rushed over him. It had been A Day. Not a bad day, just A Day. He was exhausted, annoyed, strangely satisfied, and ready for bed. First thing, however, was to clean all the sweat off of him so that he didn’t wake up feeling like he’d rolled in shit. 

Why Shang Tsung had to pick a tropical island to make his inter-realm home and tournament grounds on, he’d never understand. It was murder; the humidity sucked, the wind sucked, and the insects sucked. If Shao Khan wasn’t paying him so well to keep an eye on Shang Tsung and keep the Mortal Kombat Tournament Kombatants from killing each other away from the designated areas, he would have walked right back through the portal and returned to the desert. Heat he could handle. Soul-sucking humidity and giant, fuck-off mosquitos were not something he could handle without a lot of money and booze involved. Shao Khan was providing the money; Shang Tsung better have the booze.

He heard feet on the stone floor of the hot springs and tipped his head back. He smirked at the woman that approached, lifting himself slightly out of the water to greet her better.

“Ignara,” he said. “Didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

“Mind if I join?” Ignara smirked.

He knew it wasn’t really a question. He could tell her to piss off and she’d still get in the spring. She was just asking to pretend to be nice.

She shed the robe she had been wearing and slipped into the water. She let out a soft sigh as she leaned back, folding her ears back and down so that they weren’t so obvious in her white hair. Erron leaned back, enjoying the silence that surrounded them. It would be the last respite they had before the Tournament started properly and Erron wanted to enjoy the quiet while he could.

He opened an eye as he heard Ignara shift and watched as she started scrubbing at her arms with one of the bumpy rocks Shang Tsung’s servants had left for him. He watched, always fascinated by the way her blood-red scales blended into her flesh. She brought her arm up to her face, frowned, and hooked a black claw under the edge of a scale, prying it up to get at a speck of dirt underneath. 

“You’d think that Shang Tsung would make sure that there aren’t any ticks on his damn island,” she grumbled as she plucked the offending black speck off of her arm and flung it out into the deeper water to drown. “Wouldn’t want anything stealing all of his blood.”

“You’re trying to make sense of the sorcerer,” Erron snorted. “Man doesn’t do anything that doesn’t benefit him somehow. Maybe he eats the damn things once they’re bloated.”

Ignara wrinkled her nose at the idea before she lifted a leg out of the water. She started scrubbing her leg, flaring out her toes to get in between them. It shouldn’t have been as entertaining as it was to watch her clean up, but he had a hard time reminding himself that it was rude to stare. Not that she cared; gods had no shame about their bodies.

Satisfied, Ignara set the stone down and sank into the water until only her nose and eyes were visible. Erron chuckled, leaning his back and shoulders against the side of the spring. He closed his eyes again, listening to the soft noises of the hot springs. There was a water garden on the far side of the room that created a pleasant trickling sound as the bamboo platform rose and fell. Steam rose around him, creating that strange, pleasant sensation of being muffled and alone. It was a small reprieve in a world about to go crazy.

He dozed off at one point and only woke at the sound of approaching footsteps. He shook his head to clear the last dregs of sleep from his head and turned to see who was approaching. Ignara did the same, perking her ears for a moment before laying them flat again as she returned to her soak.

Shang Tsung, flanked by two guards, entered the hot springs. His gray eyes flicked around the room, likely looking for anyone else that could overhear him, before he turned his false smile to Erron.

“Enjoying yourself, Erron Black?” he asked.

“Certainly,” he replied. “Something I can do for you, Shang Tsung?”

“The banquet will begin within the hour. I expect you to be there to keep the rabble from getting out of hand.”

Erron grimaced. Oh. Right. How the hell’d he manage to forget about that stupid thing? Exhaustion was a bitch.

“Of course. Anywhere in particular you want me patrolling?”

“The main hall and one of the balconies; had a rather nasty fall there last Tournament that Orderrealm hasn’t stopped complaining about. Please ensure no one goes over the railing before the Tournament can begin.”

“I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for anyone getting too rowdy,” Erron motioned tipping his hat.

Shang Tsung’s false smile softened minutely; calculated, naturally, because the man did not actually like anyone’s company but his own; as he looked at the top of Ignara’s head.

“And Lady Zjarr, is there anything I can do to make your visit more pleasant?”

Ignara let out a soft hum before she rolled over and propped her elbows on the side of the pool. “Did you manage to acquire that whiskey I requested?”

“I did. It was, perhaps, one of the easiest acquisitions to make.”

“Excellent,” Ignara purred. “Then this stay should be perfect! Oh!” She fluttered her eyelashes and propped her chin in her hand. “Is there a rule against seducing the kombatants before a fight?”

“Only that you do not make them late for their fight,” Shang Tsung chuckled. “I’m sure that there will be a fair number that are looking forward to a way to exhaust their boundless energy in less… bloody ways.”

Ignara bared her teeth in a wicked grin. “You’ve never bedded a Ringju, have you?” she teased. “I’ll make sure to keep an eye on the fight schedule. I would hate if I accidentally ruined Shao Khan’s chances to win the Tournament at last.”

Erron almost wanted to tell her to rein in the act, but Shang Tsung looked amused by her words. He could probably tell that she was joking and playing up the loyalty they all had to the Khan. It was no secret that a fair number of the “lesser races” that he had conquered had no love for the tyrant. The Emperor of Outworld considered himself so much higher than his conquered people that he didn’t even realize that “Lady Zjarr of the Ringju people” wasn’t even a real title. If he had, Ignara might have had to put some more effort into her disguise.

“I will leave you two to finish your soak,” Shang Tsung gave a small bow of his head and shoulders. “I will see you at the banquet.”

Ignara wiggled her fingers in farewell before sliding back into the water. She waited until Shang Tsung was long gone before shooting him a smirk. 

“This is going to be fun,” she said. “Seduce a few horny fighters and I’ll have a number of souls dedicated to me before the Tournament even starts.”

“Greedy,” he teased. “You could at least bless them before blue-balling them.”

“Who says I’m going to blue-ball them?” she laughed. “I can still have sex with them. Most mortals don’t realize when their partner’s faking their orgasm anyways.”

Erron rolled his eyes before he hauled himself out of the pool. “I’ll see you there, Iggy,” he said as he grabbed his towel and started drying off. 

* * *

Erron grimaced as the noise of the banquet rushed over him. He did his best not to look too uncomfortable, but gatherings like this were too exhausting for their own good. The bath had refreshed him, but he could already feel his tolerance levels dropping as he watched the numerous kombatants and their retinues celebrate the chance to beat the shit out of each other.

“Whiskey,” Ignara chimed before she pushed a glass into his hands. 

“I shouldn’t be drinking,” Erron chuckled as he sipped the whiskey.

The burn against his tongue and throat was wonderful. He would nurse the drink all night, making sure he could still handle anyone that stepped out of line. So long as he had the whiskey, no one would think twice about him standing nearby; they’d just think he was another face in the crowd. It was how he could get information, too, and that was always worth something.

He glanced at Ignara, doing his best not to make it obvious he was looking her up and down. He was touched that she had gussied herself up to look like someone from his time. They weren’t supposed to know each other, but that plan was quickly going out the window now that she was making it very clear that she had “eyes” for him. Rumors would start flying like wildfire tomorrow and she was going to be at the center of it. Little attention whore.

Her outfit was not traditional and a little too form fitting to fool anyone that he had grown up with, but no one present was from Texas about a hundred years ago. She’d gone with black boots with beautiful gold stitching with a nice, thick heel to support her weight. Dark blue jeans were tucked into her boots, the material far softer than anything he’d ever managed to get his hands on. She had a pale pink undershirt on under a ruffle-collared blue-button down. Over that, she had a lavender duster fastened across her chest with the lapels flattened against her collar. To top it off, she had a black Stetson sitting on her head at a slight angle to hide her ears.

“You look good,” he said. 

“I’m glad you approve, bounty hunter,” she shot him a grin before she leaned on the railing beside him, looking down at the Earthrealmers enjoying their feast. “Quite the menagerie Raiden’s collected.”

“It’s his last attempt to keep Earthrealm from Shao Khan; he’s going to get desperate.”

“Soldiers, actors, monks, and wandering mercenaries,” she mused. “This is going to be quite the Tournament. Hasn’t been one like it in several thousand years.”

Erron nodded as music started playing below them. The Chaosrealmers were beating drums in what could pass as music, but he was certain they were too drunk to really know what constituted a beat. It was amusing, if not headache inducing. Granted, that might have been the whole point; Chaos and all that fun shit; but he wished they would take a little more pride in their playing. Fuck, he’d picked up the harmonica during his late teen years and could carry a tune better than some of the musicians right now.

“Didn’t take them long to try and piss off Seito,” Ignara chuckled. 

“Is that what they’re trying to do?” Erron asked. “Just sounds like they’re too drunk to realize that they can’t carry a tune.”

“One of them is purposefully playing off tune,” Ignara shrugged. “Notice Hotaru looks ready to pop?”

Erron glanced over to where the representatives of Orderrealm were congregating and almost choked on his whiskey from laughing too hard. Hotaru, in his ceremonial black armor, looked ready to pop all the blood vessels in his head. The woman beside him was waving a fan at him, attempting to cool him off, but he could see that she was struggling to keep from laughing. The other warriors looked annoyed, but nowhere near as incensed as Hotaru.

“Their rivalry is hilarious.”

“Chaosrealmers see it as rivalry; Orderrealmers just want their whole realm to vanish.”

“Rude.”

They shared a small chuckle before the other gathered warriors started playing their own instruments. Whether it was because they wanted to block out the cacophony that Chaosrealm called “music” or show off their own talents didn’t matter. The whole banquet hall was soon filled with beautiful music to drown out Chaosrealm’s, soothing whatever frayed nerves had been exposed. 

“Come on,” Ignara nudged his shoulder. “I want to mingle.”

“Go ahead,” he grimaced. “I’d rather not.”

She rolled her golden eyes. “You’re so boring,” she teased before touching his hand and leaning in close. “Couple of shokan just headed for that forbidden balcony.”

He took a deep breath before downing the rest of his whiskey. The burn was agonizing, but he needed some more alcohol in him if he wanted to deal with shokan. Too many arms and sour moods made for absolutely no respect for anyone that even looked human. Fucking hell, this was not going to be fun.

* * *

Johnny elbowed the man beside him. “Dude, check out that hottie!” he whispered as he watched the cowgirl descend the stairs to the main floor.

“I can’t,” the man sighed as he fumbled his cup.

“What? Why?” Johnny demanded as he whipped his head around.

The man turned his head slowly and Johnny stared at the red blindfold tied across the man’s eyes. “I’m blind. I cannot physically check anyone out.”

“Oh,” Johnny felt his ears heat up. “Right. Uh, sorry.”

The man chuckled. “She’s cute?”

“Super hot,” Johnny grinned and craned his neck for a better look. “Doesn’t look human though, so, definitely an Outworlder, right?”

“Most likely,” the man shrugged. 

“Think I could woo her?”

The man’s eyebrows drew together. “I… what?”

“I’m not getting anywhere with Blondie,” Johnny shrugged. “And I’m looking for a good time tonight. You know, work off a little steam before the Tournament.”

Johnny felt something happen in his mind. The only sensation he could compare it to was a poke, but nothing had touched him. He glanced around as the man next to him let out a soft snort of laughter.

“Okay, I can say right now that no one is going to follow you to bed,” the man snickered. “First, everyone that isn’t from Earthrealm hates us on principle. Second-.”

“Well, that’s not completely true.”

Johnny blinked as the cowgirl dropped down on the bench between him and the other man. She was holding a silver wine glass in her hand, twirling it slowly as her bright yellow eyes moved between the two of them.

“They don’t hate you on principle,” she continued, flicking a lock of white hair over her shoulder. “See, a number of them have been bested in the Tournament before by Earthrealm’s champions. They’re all sore losers and hold grudges even though Earthrealm is fighting to keep its independence so they’re going to be a little dirty in the ring.”

“Uh, and you are?” the blind man asked as he awkwardly patted the table where her hand should have been.

“Oh, right, sorry; manners slip my mind after a bite of whiskey,” the woman grinned before gently taking the blind man’s hand. “Lady Zjaar of Clan Whiteclaw. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Takahashi Kenshi,” the blind man said as he gave her hand an awkward shake. “Sorry, bad hand for a handshake.”

“No problem,” Zjaar laughed before she leaned in closer. “And you said ‘Takahashi’, right? As in the clan that managed to win the Mortal Kombat Tournament a few centuries ago before Shang Tsung brought in Goro?”

Johnny glared at Kenshi over Zjaar’s head. He knew it wouldn’t mean anything to the blind man, but damn it, not cool, dude! He couldn’t even see what a hottie he was talking to! He couldn’t appreciate her and he was dominating her attention!

“So,” Johnny leaned forward, hoping to take her attention away from Kenshi. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?”

She spun her head to look at him and her pupils widened. “You think I’m pretty?” she asked.

“Gorgeous,” Johnny grinned.

“Don’t feel too special,” Sonya Blade leaned across the table to snag a turkey leg from in front of him. “He was hitting on me the whole way here.”

Johnny wanted to know why everyone was ganging up on him. He had flirted with her, yes, but it was because he thought she was attractive! He didn’t flirt with ugly women! Okay, that was a small lie, but still!

Zjaar, however, started laughing. “A flirt!” she shot him a winning smile. “Those are the best! Please, tell me a little bit more about how pretty I am.”

“Seriously, lady?” Sonya shot her a look.

“What? I’m not allowed to like hearing stupid compliments?” Zjaar lifted an eyebrow. “I know he doesn’t mean it and he’s just using stupid pick-up lines in the hopes these jeans hit the floor.”

Kenshi spluttered and started choking on his water. Zjaar blinked and reached over to thump his back a few times until he managed to clear his throat. He slumped against the table, laughing as he held his middle.

“You’re so crass!” he howled.

“You haven’t heard anything yet, honey,” Zjaar winked. “Wait until the wine really starts flowing.”

Sonya grumbled something about civilians before she moved off along the table, filling her plate up with food. She was probably going to stake-out a corner or something equally “covert” to keep an eye out for Keto or whatever his name was. 

“So,” Johnny cleared his throat. “Gotta say, your eyes are what’re getting me right now.”

“Oh?” Zjaar’s attention snapped back to him.

“Yeah,” he smirked. “Makes me think of a cat.”

Zjaar smirked. “Cats are dangerous predators,” she said. “Even if they are prized pets across the realms.”

“They have cats in Outworld?”

“Well, not the kind that Earthrealm has, but domesticated felines,” she shrugged.

It was strangely entertaining to speak with her. Every compliment he gave her led to a discussion about Outworld. Kenshi joined in once his laughter had subsided, offering a few polite compliments that made Zjaar laugh. 

“Why would a proud woman of Outworld debase herself with these dogs?”

Johnny glanced up at the voice and glared at the man looking down his nose at them. The guy looked human, but that was likely seen as an insult to them or something. He had to admit, though, that the man had style. Decked out in purple, the man had a regal air to him that Johnny knew led to an ego that made his look humble. He had a mask over his face; a fashion statement that many of the warriors had. The ornate mask looked like it was made from higher quality than everyone else’s, though, so that meant the man was important in Outworld.

Zjaar didn’t look the least bit concerned. She turned carefully, making sure she didn’t kick Kenshi as she faced the man. She leaned back against the table, claiming the space with the elegance of a queen as she lifted one leg and crossed it over the other, bouncing her black boot slowly.

“You let me worry about myself, General,” she said. “Besides, Earthrealmers are better conversationalists than Edenians.”

The General’s dark eyes narrowed as he ran his finger around the rim of his wine glass. “It would be a shame if anything happened to these two before the Tournament could begin,” he growled. 

Johnny glanced at Kenshi, remembered the guy was blind, and put his focus back on the General. Zjaar let out a soft chuckle before she got to her feet, resting her hands on her hips.

“Is that a threat, pup?” she asked before she put herself in the General’s face. “Because I don’t like it when puppies show their teeth.”

The whole room fell silent. Hundreds of eyes turned to focus on Lady Zjaar and the Edenian General. The tip of Zjaar’s tail brushed the ground for a second before she stepped around the Edenian, laughing as she brought her hands up.

“But you’re in luck! Our most gracious host hates fights where he can’t referee!” she announced before grabbing a glass off of a stunned server’s tray and lifting it into the air. “May I propose a toast to our most gracious host? The food is sublime, the drink divine, and the company is second-to-none! May we all have the dignity and poise of Lord Shang Tsung in all our dealings!”

Cheers rose as glasses were lifted in agreement. Johnny glanced towards the front of the room, wondering how their “gracious host” was taking the scene. The man had a goblet in his hand and raised it, a strangely dark smile on his face.

“None of this would be realized without the will of our Emperor Shao Khan,” he called. “For the glory of Outworld!”

Even more cheers rose as the other kombatants downed their drinks. Johnny reached for his own glass, coughing out a small agreement before sipping the wine. He was not a wine guy, but he could choke down a few mouthfuls if it meant not getting punched by the furious General. He did notice that Zjaar, in spite of calling for the toast, did not drink. Her golden eyes were focused on the General, challenging him as he stood tall and proud in the sea of goblets being raised for Shao Khan and Shang Tsung.

With a stiff bow, the General stalked off. Johnny glanced at Zjaar and watched as she headed towards the Chaosrealmers. He pouted, but figured it was for the best. If she was attracting attention by being near Earthrealmers, it was better to keep her distance until the numbers thinned out.

“Well, that was entertaining,” Kenshi snorted. “You notice that Zjaar and Shang Tsung didn’t drink?”

“How could you tell that, Mr. Blind Man?” Johnny squinted at him. “You got a hole in that blindfold?”

“No,” Kenshi smirked. “I’m also psychic. I can piggyback off of other people’s sight if I need to. It’s a little disorienting, though, so I avoid doing so when I can.”

“Cool. So, our host didn’t drink in spite of calling for the toast?”

“Not a drop. In fact, he hasn’t touched his drink all night.”

“I’ve seen servers fill it.”

“All for appearances, no doubt,” Kenshi shrugged. “Probably worried about being poisoned. He’s not a popular man.”

“Yeah, he strikes me as a slimeball. You think you can win this Tournament?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” Kenshi chuckled. “Do you think you can, Mr. Cage?”

“I think I can,” Johnny glanced around. “Competition will be interesting though. Never fought a guy with arm blades before.”

“Tarkatans,” Kenshi shuddered. “Fierce warriors and fast. I can teach you a few things, if you’re interested.”

“I’ll take whatever advantage I can get,” Johnny laughed and started to offer his hand. “Uh, shake on it?”

Kenshi lifted his hand and Johnny grasped his. They shook and Johnny felt a small tingle in his belly. He liked Kenshi’s smile; it was the right amount of cocky and confident that he had yet to master. People usually just told him he looked like the cat that ate the canary rather than the smooth criminal he was going for.

“You know how to play wingman?”

“I think I can figure it out,” Kenshi smirked. “Not that I think it’ll help you.”

“Never know until you try,” Johnny grinned as he got to his feet and grabbed his wine glass. “Keep up!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erron does not get paid enough to deal with this shit, but booze sure helps smooth everything over.


	3. Chapter 2

Sonya glared at the schedule, her eyes scanning all the brackets. She was pissed; she was here specifically to fight Kano, but he wasn’t anywhere near her on the docket. She was up against some kid while he was fighting one of the four-armed people.

“Glaring won’t change Shang Tsung’s decision,” a voice behind her said.

A wave of cold washed over her back and she side-stepped away from the man that was looking at the board. She recognized the medallion pinned to the man’s vest, more because of what she had read than because she had ever personally dealt with a member of the Lin Kuei. The man’s unnatural blue eyes flicked to her before he turned his gaze to her properly.

“Your first fight will never be against the one that you want,” he said. “You are unproven. Shang Tsung will not respect any demands for an upset to his schedule.”

“And you know that how?” she snapped.

“We have provided warriors for Shang Tsung before,” he said. “Normally, we are just needed to pad out the numbers to ensure that Shao Khan’s people did not fight and kill each other.”

“You aren’t here to win the tournament?” Sonya narrowed her eyes.

“No.”

The man looked back to the board. He reached out, keeping his finger a few inches from the wooden surface, and traced a jagged line up the roster. Sonya watched the trail of ice that followed his finger. She inhaled sharply, glancing at the man as he tapped the board several lines above the beginning brackets.

“I suspect this is where I will be told to yield,” he said.

“You could win, though,” Sonya said. “Why not fight for Earthrealm? Win the tournament and protect Earthrealm?”

The man chuckled softly and looked at her. “What optimism you have, miss. Could I win? Certain. A fair number of my clan could easily carve a bloody path through this tournament. My Grandmaster, however, has forbidden it.”

“So defy him.”

A cold, sad smile touched the man’s lips. “Were it that easy, I would not be standing here.” He turned away, his shoulders already setting as he started to walk away. “Prepare yourself for the fight ahead. Let no other thoughts consume you. If you are dedicated and focused, you will fight the one you seek.”

“What’s your name?” Sonya asked. “In case I have to fight you.”

“Sub-Zero.”

“That’s not a name.”

The man chuckled, but kept walking. Sonya let out a sigh, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. So many melodramatic assholes here for the tournament, she supposed. She cast one last glare at the dockets before she turned and stomped off in a different direction than Sub-Zero. She didn’t want to seem like she was following the guy, but she was tempted to just to see where the dangerous potential assassin went.

She wandered through the temple, wondering how something this magnificent had never been detected before. She didn’t buy into all of the magic nonsense, but she had to admit that she had seen some weird shit since realizing this tournament was a thing. Could something really hide from military surveillance equipment with magic? It sounded impossible, but, she was standing in a temple that was distinctly from one of the past Chinese Dynasties.

She stopped and stared out over the lush garden below, staring as multi-coloured birds sat singing on their perches. Huge bees flew lazily from one massive flower to the next, pollinating without a care in the world. It was beautiful and peaceful. She narrowed her eyes, scanning the garden for anything dangerous; nothing could be this beautiful without hiding something dangerous.

“Problem, ma’am?”

She spun and pulled her handgun free of its holster. As fast as she was, the other man already had his pistol drawn and pointed at her face. She narrowed her eyes, but the cowboy on the other end of the pistol didn’t look the least bit shaken.

“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded.

“Someone hired to make sure the kombatants don’t get lost on the grounds,” the man said. “Shang Tsung doesn’t like it when his fighters die because they fell off a cliff.”

Sonya looked the man up and down, wondering why the hell he thought dressing like a cowboy was a good idea. Slowly, she lowered her handgun, not holstering it just yet. The man mirrored her, letting his pistol hang at his side as his other hand settled on the grip of the second pistol on his hip.

“You look human,” she said.

“I am.”

“Why serve Shang Tsung?”

“Pays well.”

Sonya narrowed her eyes. Great. Another scumbag motivated by money instead of defending the people that he was born to. He was almost as bad as Kano.

“It doesn’t worry you that Shao Khan could annex our whole realm if we lose?”

“No.”

The man holstered his gun without any flourish; surprising, since cowboys were always more about flash than substance. His brown eyes regarded her calmly before he gestured behind him. She holstered her gun and followed him, letting him lead the way back into the temple proper.

“You’ve served Shang Tsung for a long time?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does.”

The man shrugged his shoulders. “Long time, sure.”

“You always evasive with your answers?”

“I don’t owe you anything, ma’am,” he said.

“So that’s a yes.”

She shook her head. Why was she expecting anyone to be cooperative here? If the men weren’t egotistical jackasses, they were macho jackasses. There wasn’t two spare brain cells to rub together between any of them. Hell, the women weren’t much better, toting the same bullshit their male counterparts spewed. It was frustrating and stupid and she was not going to survive this island if that’s how everyone thought.

“Word of advice, ma’am,” the cowboy snorted as he gestured to the courtyard leading up to the main area. “Don’t go asking personal questions from the folks here. They don’t appreciate it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, cowboy,” she huffed as she pushed past him.

She mounted the steps to the upper courtyard, grumbling as she went. She was so done with all of this nonsense. If Earthrealm’s fate didn’t rely on them surviving until the end of the tournament, she might have left right there and then. She did not, however, feel like having to kneel at the feet of a tyrant as they conquered everything she had ever known. It was bad enough when her president was a fucking moron; she was not going to swear allegiance to a man that had spent the last few thousand years merging realms together like a greedy fucking monster.

“Sonya Blade.”

She stopped and looked up. The man from the boat was standing at the top of the stairs. His glowing blue eyes unsettled her, but his severe features were oddly kind. There was a benevolence to him that reassured her even as she struggled to understand who he was. A faint smile touched his lips before he made a small beckoning motion to her.

“Walk with me.”

It felt like she had wings on her heels. She mounted the stairs faster than she should have been able to and fell into step beside the towering man. She had to crane her neck to look at him, awed by his size. He was well over seven-feet tall and wide enough to encircle a man the size of Jackson Briggs, her commanding officer. He was dressed in a white robe with a blue smock over it and a conical reed hat shading his eyes.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“I am Raiden,” the man said. “Protector of Earthrealm.”

“Never heard of you before, sorry.”

Another smile crossed Raiden’s lips. “That is the point, Sonya Blade,” he said. “Most inhabitants of the realms do not know me. It is by design.”

“Why?” she shook her head. “We could help defend this realm. Shao Khan would have lost a long time ago if we had more people to fight him.”

“We tried that before,” Raiden said as he looked down at her. “When humanity was still young, they openly opposed Shao Khan. But, in spite of that unity, there were those that tried to enslave the rest of their people in the same way. There were some that wanted to conquer the other realms, to do to them what Shao Khan wanted to do with us.”

“Humans are terrible, but we still could have fought.”

“The few fight so the rest don’t have to,” Raiden said before he cocked his head to the side, watching her curiously. “Isn’t that why you joined the army, Sonya Blade? So that others would not have to.”

“I come from a family of soldiers. There wasn’t any other option for me.”

“There is always another option,” Raiden looked away, staring out across the courtyard.

The barren flagstones were swept clean and a few of the island’s monks were busy setting up the stage. They acted like she and Raiden weren’t there, focusing on their task as one of the guards stood nearby. The black and white mask turned towards them, but Raiden gave no indication that he saw the guard. His blue eyes focused on the stage being built, his expression blank, but his eyes sullen.

“I have seen many good warriors die on this island,” he said. “Whether or not they were born of Earthrealm, their blood was spilled in desperation for this realm. I do what I can to honor those that have fallen, even if it was for Shao Khan’s madness.”

“I can’t imagine what that must be like,” Sonya shook her head. “You’re millions of years old. The lives you must have seen perish….”

Raiden turned and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Do not worry for me, Sonya Blade. I am a demi-god. I will always outlive mortals. It is a truth I have long since accepted.”

Sonya chuckled as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you always so elegant in your responses?”

“I try to be,” Raiden chuckled. “People look to me for guidance and wisdom. Even by the standards of the universe, I am young, but in the same breath, I am older than any human could hope to be. It is a strange balance that I walk.”

Movement over Raiden’s shoulder caught her attention and she peeked around him to get a better look. She rolled her eyes as she spotted a group of shirtless men heading for the courtyard. They were loud as they approached, flexing and slapping one another as they glistened in the sunlight. Raiden glanced towards them, but his expression was closed.

“Lord Raiden!” one of the men shouted and course-corrected towards them. “Hey, Seth said that you can give us a blessing before our fight! That true?”

Sonya glared at Johnny Cage, hating him even more than she already did when she saw that the egotistical dipshit had his name tattooed to his chest. The other men around him didn’t look much better, all various types of the same meathead that she had grown up around. They would flex their muscles, throw a few punches, and expect the world to be handed to them on silver platters.

“The gods of the realms are allowed to offer one blessing to a champion of their choosing,” Raiden said. “It would be unwise to waste my blessing so soon into the tournament.”

Sonya rolled her eyes. “You that useless in a fight that you need a cheat to win, Cage?” she asked.

“Hey, I don’t need a handicap!” Cage glared at her. “I just wanted to know if it was true. Cuz that means the other fighters can be losers by begging their gods for a blessing.”

Raiden’s eyes narrowed. “I am the only god here.”

“Chaosrealm and Orderrealm say they have one,” one of the shirtless men said. “Kin and Fierza, some sister deities or something.”

Raiden stiffened. Sonya glanced at the Protector of Earthrealm and frowned.

“Raiden?”

“And you are certain those were the names you were told?” he asked.

“Positive. Why?”

“I must look into this. If those two are running around this island, we might have other problems to deal with.”

Raiden turned and left, crossing the courtyard with large strides. Sonya watched him leave, wishing she’d thought to chase after him sooner. She did not want to deal with the group of men that were grinning at her like she was in on some sort of joke.

* * *

Raiden stopped in one of the many gardens and tried to focus on the life around him. If Johnny Cage and the other kombatants were telling the truth, then there were more gods here than he realized. The half-gods he sensed did not surprise him; there would always be half-gods walking the realms, forever lost to their mortal parents and unable to keep close to their immortal heritage. If the Warlords were hidden amongst the attendees, however, he was in trouble. Netherrealm gods were always unpredictable, more likely to start trouble because they’re bored than to keep their nose to themselves.

He squeezed his eyes shut, reaching out with his essence, searching for other godly essences. He knew that it was a long shot, but he had to try. The older gods could mask their essence easier than anyone he knew, but if one of them wanted to be found, they would stand out like a beacon in the night.

“Looking for someone, Raiden?”

Raiden whipped around, staring at the woman leaning against the tree less than a few feet from him. He stared into the cat-like yellow eyes, wondering how she had managed to sneak up on him. Her long lashes blinked and she smirked as she straightened up. The tail of her coat trailed behind her as she stepped closer, flowing behind her as if caught in a breeze.

He narrowed his eyes, taking in the woman’s appearance as carefully as he could. He remembered seeing her last night at the banquet. She had been flirting with any combatant that had decided to give her attention. That flirtiness was missing now, replaced with a predatory intensity that made his skin crawl.

“Does it interest you if I do?” he asked.

“Maybe,” the woman cocked her head to the side. “You looking to bother my big sisters?”

Raiden felt his blood chill in his veins. He inhaled slowly, meeting the intense yellow gaze as the woman’s pupils seemed to expand further than was natural. In the span of a few seconds, he was staring into pitch black eyes that reflected his terrified visage back to him.

“So the Firelords are present,” he whispered.

“Relax, Raiden,” the woman smiled, closing her eyes. “We’re just here to harvest a few souls. Shang Tsung can’t get mad if the fighters dedicate the deaths of their opponents to the pretty ladies that make their pulse quicken.”

“You were not here before.”

“I wasn’t, no, but Kin and Fierza have been in attendance for a few hundred years now.”

Raiden felt his knees grow weak. The Warlords have been attending the Mortal Kombat tournament for centuries?! How could he have not known?

“You… are here for souls,” he whispered.

The Firelord nodded. “Yes. And before you say anything, these souls are ours to claim. We’re just speeding the process along and making sure that Shang Tsung doesn’t squirrel them away.”

“Squirrel them away?”

The Firelord scoffed and stamped her foot on the ground. “You can’t feel that, Raiden?” she asked. “There is a soul well around here somewhere and its driving me insane.”

A grimace curled its way across his lips before he could stop himself. “Shang Tsung would do something that despicable to the souls that have perished on his island.”

“Hence the beauty of the Firelords being here in attendance,” the woman smiled as she gave a deep, theatrical bow. “The souls come to us, we take the power, and they skip the Netherrealm. Brilliant.”

“And I’m to believe you that that is all you have planned for the souls that you claim?” Raiden snapped.

The Firelord rolled her eyes, but he found a means to escape the fear that was slowly paralyzing him. The gods of the Netherrealm were responsible for Shinnok the Betrayer’s power and his conquest of the realms at the dawn of existence. If they had not aided him, he never would have been able to twist reality and begin the Cult of the Damned that resulted in necromancers and other disgusting practices that harmed all those that stood in their way. If he could focus on his anger instead of his fear, he would be fine.

“We’re not necromancers,” the Firelord snapped. “And isn’t it better than letting these warriors go to the Netherrealm to be tortured for the rest of eternity by Shinnok’s minions?”

“Shinnok’s minions or your minions?”

The Firelord punched him and he stumbled. He turned to return the blow, feeling a line of blood trickling out of his nose, and stopped, staring at the flaming woman that was standing where the Firelord had been. Black eyes narrowed in the heart of the red flames as the form twisted in on itself, forcing him to watch as the Firelord moved. He blinked and the Firelord lunged, solidifying into a dragon before he had a chance to dodge.

She pinned him to the ground under her weight, but he managed to grab her jaws to keep her from crushing his head. He strained, feeling her fury roll around him. He saw the grass beneath him curling and blackening as it burned, unable to resist the heat of the Firelord’s flames. He strained, gritting his teeth as he tried to twist her head enough to shove her off of him.

“Ignara, enough.”

The crushing weight was pulled off of him and he inhaled deeply. A gloved hand was shoved towards him and he took it without hesitation. The black-clad woman hauled him to his feet, steadying him with ease. Ignara the Red was struggling against an Edenian woman, hissing and spitting insults at Raiden. A woman in a white robe stepped forward, locked her arms around Ignara’s chest, and held her securely; no matter how hard she struggled, Ignara could not break free.

“Thanks, Kin. Can you take her somewhere quiet?” the Edenian woman sighed as she straightened her shirt and vest. “I’ll handle this.”

“Good luck,” the black-clad woman laughed as she walked over to Ignara and Kin, following them away from the garden.

The Edenian sighed and looked back at him, her blue eyes pinning him. “Do you need to antagonize her?” she asked.

“I think I’m within my right to make her question her part to play in Earthrealm’s invasion.”

“Are you?” the woman cocked her head to the side. “You repelled Shinnok, didn’t you? And we helped you bind him, didn’t we? We allowed you to have him chained in the Netherrealm, even when we knew that nothing good would come of it.”

Raiden looked away, refusing to meet those piercing blue eyes. The woman shrugged and walked past him, patting his shoulder. It was condescending, but he knew better than to react. It was an obvious goad.

“Either way, I’ll make sure she stays out of your way so you two don’t try to tear each other’s throats out,” the Edenian continued. “I’d hate for Shang Tsung to have any sort of satisfaction from seeing you die.”

He watched her go, struggling to keep his anger in check. He took a deep breath to steady himself, trying to exhale all of his frustration. It would be some time before he would be able to walk away and deal with his champions without wanting to punch someone through a wall. He could not allow the Netherrealm god to frustrate him like this; he refused to let them have that power over him.

* * *

“Let me go!”

“Are you going to behave yourself?”

“He started it!”

Vatra shook her head, watching as Ignara struggled to get out of Kin’s iron grip. Kin showed no signs of releasing the youngest of the Firelords, her arms locked securely across Ignara’s chest. Fierza was watching with a smirk on her lips, her back resting against the trunk of a flowering tree.

“Raiden is going to feel cornered when face-to-face with us, Nari, you know that,” Vatra shook her head. “There’s no reason to attack him.”

“He accused me of torturing souls!” Ignara snarled as she tried to wiggle her way free. “Let me goooooo!”

Kin glanced at Vatra and she nodded. She let Ignara drop to the ground, ignoring the indignant squeak it earned her. Ignara got to her feet quickly, dusting herself off as quickly as she could. Her lips were pursed, but there was no obvious sign of distress or embarrassment on her features.

“How did he accuse you of that?” Fierza asked.

“He asked if the tormentors in the Netherrealm were Shinnok’s minions or mine,” Ignara crossed her arms over her chest and lashed her tail behind her.

“Ah.”

They nodded, understanding why Ignara had lost her temper. Ignara’s stance softened and she shifted, glancing between her sisters. A small smile touched her lips before she cupped her chin in thought.

“So, five Ancients are gathered together,” she said. “We should party.”

“Not while Shinnok has a champion here.”

Ignara’s eyes widened. “What?!”

Vatra nodded. “Quan Chi arrived early this morning with a champion. Some revenant or specter he dragged out of the depths of the Netherrealm.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

“Scary looking fucker too,” Fierza snorted. “Don’t know who made his costume, but I’m surprised he doesn’t impale himself on the spikes.”

“We got a name?”

“Only a codename. Scorpion.”

“Because that’s descriptive.”

Vatra shrugged her shoulders. “Should have heard him throwing a fit over the fact that he had to wait before he could challenge anyone personally.”

“How much you want to bet that Quan Chi failed to mention that he had to follow the rules until at least the fifth day?” Kin shook her head. “Father’s feathers, my lot behaves themselves better and they’re obsessed with chaos.”

“How did you manage to convince a bunch of water worshippers to follow you?” Ignara lifted an eyebrow.

“Beat the shit out of the head cleric and told them to follow or else.”

“What was the ‘or else’?”

“I haven’t had to think of one yet.”

They shared a chuckle. Vatra rested her hands on her hips before she looked up at the sky. The other sisters fell silent, watching her and waiting to hear what she would say.

“Raiden knows we’re here now,” she said. “So, we need to behave ourselves. We don’t need a mini war breaking out because he panicked and thought we were attacking him.”

“Ugh, this is a chance to actually have fun and I have to pretend that I’m an innocent child,” Ignara pouted.

“No one said you couldn’t have fun,” Fierza smirked. “Just don’t be a dumbass about who you want to think you’re following to bed.”

Ignara shrugged her shoulders, grinning as her sisters laughed. They understood what danger they were in with Quan Chi and Shinnok’s champion wandering around. That did not, however, mean that they were going to let that stop them from enjoying themselves. They were surrounded by mortals and the potential to reap a few souls. They would be crazy to ignore the opportunities spread out before them.


	4. Chapter 3

Liu Kang stood quietly beside Raiden as the opening ceremony began. He was anxious and excited about the tournament, both for the chance to learn from the other fighters and the reality of the situation. This was their last chance to defeat the Outworld champions otherwise Shao Khan would be able to merge Earthrealm with the Outworld empire. The diverse culture of Earthrealm would be crushed and thousands of people would die or be enslaved. He couldn’t let that happen.

He was Raiden’s personal champion, which put a lot more pressure on him to at least make it to the semi-finals. However, there were a fair number of other Earthrealmers that could help keep the realm safe. He knew some, like Kenshi, from his endless days of training, but others, like Sonya Blade and Johnny Cage, were wild cards. He trusted Sonya Blade to be a good fighter as she was a soldier, but Johnny Cage worried him.

The man was undisciplined, running around like he was a fantastic fighter when he only knew all the flashy moves. He wouldn’t deny the man had talent, but his ego made Kung Lao look humble. He was worried for the fighters, unsure if they were ready for the dangers that the tournament presented. There was a chance that they would die if they lost. Maybe not in the first three brackets, but after that, it was up to the whims of their opponents if they survived the match. It was dangerous and he wasn’t sure if Mr. Movie Star understood that.

“So, why are Earthrealmers loyal to this guy?” Johnny whispered in his ear.

“The monks?” Liu Kang asked.

“Yeah.”

“No accounting for taste,” he shrugged. “Some people are willing to hedge their bets when they see a pattern.”

“Well, I’ll break that pattern,” Johnny grinned at him.

Liu Kang rolled his eyes as playfully as he could. He sensed Raiden tense up beside him and glanced at his mentor. The Protector of Earthrealm was staring off into the distance, his eyes oddly glazed over, as his fingers twitched. He blinked and shook his head, blue eyes still unfocused as he touched his forehead.

“Lord Raiden, are you alright?” Liu Kang asked as the drums beat a steady rhythm.

“I’m fine,” Raiden folded his arms over his chest, staring ahead. “Do not worry for me, Liu Kang.”

Liu Kang nodded, but he spotted a few people glancing at Raiden. He watched them for a moment, but their gaze moved on as quickly as they had landed on Raiden. Likely, they were curious if Raiden had suffered a stroke. He didn’t think that gods could suffer from ailments like that, but he didn’t know how other realms’ gods acted.

“Welcome, Kombatants!” Shang Tsung’s voice carried across the courtyard as the drums fell silent. “You stand upon hallowed ground at a critical moment in Earthrealm history. This Mortal Kombat Tournament marks the final year for Earthrealm’s denial of Outworld’s annexation. For the last nine tournaments, Goro, Champion of Outworld, has reigned as Grand Champion. If Earthrealm wishes to remain free, he must be defeated by an Earthrealm participant.”

Shang Tsung cast his gaze around the gathered kombatants. He looked strangely smug for a man that was watching over a tournament that resulted in the death of at least a third of the participants.

“We shall begin the tournament with Johnny Cage and Grieve.”

“Starting off with the best,” Johnny grinned as he strode forward.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Liu Kang sighed as he followed Johnny, planning on making sure the man didn’t die on the first day.

Johnny hopped up onto the platform, grinning at the impassive faces below. Liu Kang stayed on the left-hand side of the platform, watching as the Chaosrealmers rallied around their fighter. Grieve wasn’t missing the front of his face like the older Chaosrealmers, but there was an unhinged look in his eyes that made Liu Kang uncomfortable. Chaosrealmers were, by virtue, incredibly difficult to predict and he did not envy Johnny needing to face off against one on the first fight.

Grieve stepped up onto the right-side of the platform. Shang Tsung waited for them to get into position before he sat down in his throne flanked by beautiful women. He lifted his hand and pointed to the platform.

“Fight!”

Johnny attacked first, lunging for Grieve with surprising speed. Grieves backed away, but he couldn’t escape Johnny’s attack. Liu Kang stared, awed by the man’s speed. He was flashy and showy, less disciplined that Liu Kang would have ever allowed himself to be, but he was landing devastating hits with every blow.

“Holy shit,” someone laughed behind him. “Look at him! He’s like a dancer!”

Liu Kang’s eyebrows shot up as Johnny’s leg snapped straight up. He had no idea the guy had that sort of flexibility. It was insane.

Grieve hadn’t seen the attack coming either. He took the kick straight to the jaw. There was a small spurt of blood from the Chaosrealmer’s mouth before he dropped like a rock to the ground.

“Round one goes to Johnny Cage!” one of the referees shouted. “Two minutes rest.”

Johnny strut to his side of the platform and grinned as one of his friends handed him a canteen of water. “You see that, Liu Kang?” he asked.

“I did; you fight better than I expected,” Liu Kang admitted. “May I offer some advice?”

“Sure, why not?” Johnny laughed.

“Grieve over-extends his left arm when he swings. You should capitalize on that.”

“You don’t say; didn’t notice that.”

“You were too busy with your flip-kick to notice.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Johnny laughed as his friend wiped blood off of his brow and applied a small bandage to the torn skin. “Ready for round two!”

He walked back to the center of the platform, waiting for Grieve to join him. The young man looked dazed, but was on his feet at least. He spat out a mouthful of blood, nodding as one of his companions whispered in his ear. One of the two women in the group squeezed his shoulder and gave his back a thump before pushing him back towards Johnny.

“Round two,” Shang Tsung called out. “Fight!”

Grieve dodged Johnny’s first few attacks, his eyes still unfocused. He ducked a wide punch and landed three sharp jabs to Johnny’s stomach. He stumbled back a few steps, coughing and shaking his head. Grieve pushed his advantage, driving Johnny towards the edge of the platform. Blood trickled down Johnny’s face from his nose, but he shifted his stance and leaned into the attacks, refusing to lose another inch of ground.

“Come on, Johnny,” Liu Kang grumbled. “Watch him.”

Grieve took a half-step back, dodging Johnny’s kick. He darted forward, over-reached, and Johnny grabbed his arm. The Chaosrealmer’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake too late. Johnny twisted and threw Grieve from the platform. The other kombatants scattered, letting the young man slam against the flagstones with a painful thud.

“Johnny Cage wins!” the referee shouted.

“Booyah!” Johnny punched the air. “You’ve been Caged!”

Liu Kang rolled his eyes. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Johnny’s ego would still be swollen after almost getting his ass kicked by the Chaosrealmer, but a bit of humility wouldn’t hurt him. His friends cheered as he hopped down off of the platform, carrying him off to enjoy a round of drinks.

Liu Kang started to walk towards Grieve, but his companions were already gathering him. Blood gushed down the young man’s face, his eye swollen shut as he breathed heavily. The woman that had thumped his back was cradling his jaw, cooing to him as she healed his broken jaw. Liu Kang waited a moment before he walked closer, ignoring the attendants that were cleaning the blood from the platform for the next fight.

“You fought well, Grieve,” Liu Kang said before he bowed.

“Fair enough match,” the healer chuckled as Grieve slumped against a faceless warrior’s shoulder. “Should teach him to listen to his mentor instead of insisting that he knows what he’s doing.”

“The joys of being young,” another warrior laughed. “Go get him laid down and bring some _boktho_.”

“Booze,” the healer said as she spotted Liu Kang’s confused frown. “It’ll help numb his face so he doesn’t do anything dumb while healing.”

“A tradition for your people?”

“Nah, just beats being sober while hurt,” the warrior laughed before bowing to the healer. “We will meet you back in our quarters, mistress.”

The healer bowed her head before glancing over her shoulder at the shokan and Edenian that were fighting. "You should go celebrate with your friend, monk,” she said.

“If you do not need assistance,” Liu Kang bowed.

She lifted an eyebrow at him, but said nothing more as she went to stand on the right-hand side of the platform. While he doubted the Edenians needed another healer, they didn’t look angry at her approach. A woman clothed in white and blue silk shared a smile with the healer before they watched the two kombatants punch and kick each other.

Liu Kang returned to Raiden’s side. His mentor looked uneasy, but Liu Kang knew better than to ask questions. Sometimes, the Protector of Earthrealm needed time to himself to mull over his thoughts. If he needed another opinion, Fujin, his brother, would be there with hurricane speed. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be an immortal, to lose yourself to the flow of time chasing thoughts and ideas around, and to return after long periods of time. Hopefully, Raiden did not forget that he was needed for the tournament.

* * *

“Anyone got a Kleenex?” Johnny asked.

“Tissue,” Kale frowned and handed him the tissue. “Off-brand, your highness.”

“Ugh, you’re one of those?” Johnny teased before he blew his nose.

Blood and snot stained the scratchy paper tissue, but he didn’t care. He took the moment to adjust his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as his tear ducts made it clear that they still worked. He hated breaking his nose, but, fuck, that was what happened when you fought someone fist to fist.

“What?” Kale blinked at him.

“Someone that will bemoan someone for using a brand name instead of the item name,” Johnny said as he sniffed, making sure he hadn’t accidentally blocked his airways. “I say ‘Kleenex’, everyone knows what I’m talking about.”

“Oh. Well, fuck you.”

Johnny laughed, shoving Kale’s shoulder. It was good to have a posse on the island, a group of guys he could go to and be stupid with. Most of them had seen his movies and they loved lambasting him for them. While he loved to talk himself up, he would be the first to admit that not all of his pictures were hits; a lot of them were just action shlock that were fun and goofy. No need to take everything seriously, Hollywood.

“You fought well,” Kenshi said as he stepped up to the balcony that Johnny and his posse were lounging in. “A very good first fight.”

“Thought you were blind,” Pascal said as he scratched at his stubble.

“I can see without eyes,” Kenshi shrugged as he settled himself on the bench beside Johnny. “Not as good as everyone else, but I saw how you fought. Might I suggest not going easy on your next opponent, though?”

“Who said I went easy?” Johnny lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe that kid was just good.”

“Your heartrate was nowhere near as high as Grieve’s,” Kenshi cocked his head towards him. “Why play humble for me?”

Johnny shrugged. He had no idea why he had said that to Kenshi. No one else had thought he’d gone easy on Grieve; they’d all agreed that it was a nice warm-up match. Testing the water, so to speak. If Kenshi’s hearing was that good that he could hear both of their heartbeats, though, it was going to be a fun stay on the island.

“Why ruin your beautiful mental picture of me?” Johnny grinned. “I’m grinning.”

“I figured,” Kenshi shook his head and shoved at Johnny’s face. “Dick.”

The urge to be a giant goof and pretend to kiss Kenshi surged through him. He didn’t know the guy, but he wanted the blind swordsman to like him. Hell, there were very few people he was desperate to get to like him, but someone as sassy and calm as Kenshi was strangely high on that list. He resisted, though; the last thing he needed was for his posse to think poorly of him.

“This the winner’s lounge?”

Johnny perked up as Lady Zjaar stepped onto the balcony. She smirked at him as she approached, her white hair tied back in a two loose braids. She had swapped out the lavender duster for a dark blue one, which only made her yellow eyes that much more impressive.

“It is now that you’re here,” Johnny patted his lap.

“Cute,” she grinned before leaning forward to look him in the eye. “But I’ve heard better pick-up lines from Tarkatans.”

“Ow,” Johnny pouted. “What brings you out here then?”

“Wanted to make sure you were healed properly; you left with your friends before a healer had a chance to look you over.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your nose is crooked.”

Johnny went to touch his nose, but she swatted his hand away. Her claws settled on either side of his nose, pinching it back into position. Tears burned his eyes and he let out a high whine of discomfort. Her eyes closed as a red aura surrounded her. His nose burned as badly as it did when Grieve had broken it earlier, then, he heard a soft click and the pain was gone. He let out a soft sigh as Zjaar removed her hand from his face.

“Wow.”

“Healing magic is a gift,” Zjaar laughed. “I’m surprised Lord Raiden doesn’t have a few healers to deal with his champions.”

“Think the big cheese does it himself,” Johnny shrugged. “Heard one of those four-armed guys say that, anyways.”

“That is woefully unacceptable,” Zjaar grimaced. “He has close to twenty-five fighters here; he can’t hope to keep them all fighting-fit without draining himself!”

“Lord Raiden is stronger than you give him credit, Lady Zjaar,” Kenshi said. “He has been doing this for centuries.”

“Explains how Earthrealm has lost the last nine tournaments,” Zjaar snorted. “Stubborn goat.”

She pursed her lips before dropping down beside Kenshi. She leaned on his shoulder, showing no signs that she had felt him jump out of his skin. Johnny lifted an eyebrow at her, but she said nothing as she dropped her head onto Kenshi’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

“You’re comfortable.”

“Uh… thanks?”

Kenshi shared a confused look with everyone before he awkwardly patted the top of her hat. Johnny saw the smirk cross her lips before her tail tapped the bench for a moment. Johnny saw his friend’s eyebrows shoot up at the sight of the tail, but no one said anything as Lady Zjaar got comfortable against Kenshi’s side.


	5. Chapter 4

Erron grumbled as he felt sunlight slanting into his face. He shifted, feeling a familiar weight roll away from him. He yawned and cracked open an eye, looking down at the woman lying next to him.

“Mornin’,” he yawned.

“Mmm,” Ignara huffed before she stretched her legs and flexed her toes. “Your accent’s strong in the morning.”

“You complainin’?”

“Didn’t say that, did I?” she yawned and rolled over to look at him. “Why are you up at the crack of dawn, gunslinger?”

“Have to make sure the kombatants behave themselves,” he yawned as he rose.

Honestly, he would have enjoyed sleeping a few more hours, but Outworlders were always ready for a fight and often went off looking for one. He’d served as an enforcer at the Tournament before; he knew how these bastards operated. It was annoying, but that was what the high pay was for. No use bitching about something that he agreed to.

“What’re your plans for the day?” he asked as he pulled a shirt on.

“I was going to sleep,” Ignara yawned. “I think I’ll tag along with you instead. Then I can still sleep and make sure you stay out of trouble.”

“Me?” he smirked, looking over his shoulder. “I’m the incarnation of innocent.”

“No, you’re a magnet for trouble,” she smirked as she stretched out on the bed, flicking her tail lazily behind her. “It’s why we get along.”

He chuckled as he pulled his boots on, glancing to the chair beside the bed. His cloak and guns were exactly where he’d left them, which meant that Ignara hadn’t bumped them last night. They were both bad for walking into things in the dark; his excuse was being human and not able to see at night. He didn’t know what her excuse was.

He felt the flash of fire against his back before something long and fuzzy curled around his neck. He reached up to scratch under Iggy’s jaw, smirking as his patron purred and rubbed her cheek against his. The sinuous ferret-dragon chirped up at him, yellow eyes sparkling with mischief. She nipped his ear before curling comfortably around his neck again, tucking her nose into the collar of his shirt. Unless someone decided to grab her, they’d just think she was a furry boa.

Earthrealmers might give him odd looks, but most of the Outworlders present knew of his “pet” ferret-dragon. They had more respect for the shape-shifting wildlife than they did for him, but he didn’t hold it against them. Ferret-dragons were monsters when disturbed and resulted in at least a hundred deaths a year from idiots deciding it was a good idea to poke one or go near a nest.

He threw his cloak over his shoulders and fastened it in place over his left shoulder. He fit his gunbelt in place, checking his pistols over before slipping them into their holsters. Satisfied with his wardrobe, he grabbed his hat off the back of the chair and headed out.

His first order of business was to make sure no one had gotten access to The Pit during the night. It was a third tier stage that always ended in a violent fatality. He had never seen a fight up there that didn’t end with someone being thrown over the side of the high bridge to fall to their death on the spikes below. It was gory and gross and probably one of Shang Tsung’s favourite stages for the kombatants to fight on.

The barrier was still in place, but Erron knew that if he could hoist his ass over it, the kombatants could. He vaulted the barrier, landing on the other side with a soft grunt, and headed down into The Pit to check the spikes. The place stunk of blood and viscera, not helped by the fact that it was the outlet for the castle’s kitchen. Carrion birds fought over food scraps and the occasional prisoner that didn’t survive Shang Tsung’s experiments beneath the castle. They were monstrosities that defied imagination; too many arms, heads, and torsos to ever hope to survive outside of Outworld where the magic could give them a chance. Why Shang Tsung thought it was a good idea to conduct experiments like this in a pocket realm was beyond him, but there was no helping self-proclaimed geniuses.

He walked amongst the spikes, satisfied that there was no one impaled on them. He squinted up at the high bridges overhead, but couldn’t see anyone on the two platforms. The lanterns were out, meaning that a servant had been along to extinguish the magical flames, but nothing else had disturbed them. Satisfied, he left The Pit and started the climb to one of the main courtyards.

The view over the island was breath-taking. It was a sea of green, the canopy so tightly woven that very little light reached the ground. It was strange beneath those boughs, full of venomous snakes, spiders, bugs, and small cats that fled from him when he’d gotten too close. Flowers bloomed along the trunks of the trees, the colours so vibrant that they hurt to look at. Massive bees pollinated the flowers, docile and strangely open to a scratch behind the wings. It was magical and dangerous and he planned on spending as much free time hiding there away from the humidity.

As he reached the courtyard, he heard a familiar _shiik_. He cursed and pulled his pistol, aiming at the back of a Tarkatan’s head. He fired before the savage warrior had a chance to attack, knocking them to the ground with the force of a horse’s kick. The bullet wasn’t designed to kill, just incapacitate; the joy of being able to shoot spells off without having to shout fancy words. Iggy sat up on his shoulder, ears perked around her antlers, waiting to see what would happen next.

“Fights are not to be conducted outside of established Tournament parameters,” Erron growled as he walked forward. “Shang Tsung’s orders. You know that.”

The Tarkatan growled, rolling onto their side to glare at him. The human they had been planning on killing was dragging themselves away, coughing blood up as a hole in their back bubbled. Iggy chirped and hopped down from his shoulder, rushing over to the human to make sure they were okay. They’d need to see a healer, that much was certain, but they didn’t look like they were going to die. Shang Tsung would have been pissed if he’d heard about that before the Fourth Tier fights.

“Stay out of this, Earthrealmer,” the Tarkatan growled as they pointed their arm blade at Erron. “That human deserves to die the death of a vermin!”

“According to you,” Erron said. “Let me guess, he sneezed at you?”

The Tarkatans snarled and climbed to his feet, trembling with rage. Erron heard heavy footsteps heading for them and glanced up towards the upper pathway. He saw spears flashing in the sunlight and guessed that the guards had heard his gunshot and were coming to investigate.

He saw a brief flash of fire to his right and glanced down. Iggy, now the size of a large dog, grabbed the human by the nape of his shift and dragged them away from the Tarkatan. A grisly trail of blood followed them, but he could tell that it was mostly from a soaked shirt rather than the wound itself. Iggy paused beside the stairs leading up to the Terrace of Champions, perking her ears as guards started hurrying down towards them.

She gave a quick bark before hurrying back to Erron’s side, her tail lashing as she stood with her head lowered. The Tarkatan glanced down at her and seemed to be weighing his options. Iggy let out a low growl and the white fur running down the center of her back rose. Her tail lashed, the fluffy tip twinkling with embers, and she bared her teeth. Good warning signs for the Tarkatan to stand down.

No one ever said the Tarkatan were smarter than they were savage.

The Tarkatan was airborne in a flash, leaping with the grace and skill of a full-blooded warrior. Erron stepped backwards and fired two shots, one into each shoulder. Blood burst from the back of the Tarkatan’s shoulders, followed by a fair bit of bone and viscera. Their jump ended with a crash to the flagstones, breaking their leg and wrist. Iggy lunged before their body stilled, snarling loud enough to make Erron’s blood chill.

The Tarkatan looked up and tried to block his face. Iggy’s jaws snapped down around his arm. The Tarkatan shrieked and tried to strike her, but Iggy twisted out of the way, snarling as she braced her feet and started pulling harder on the arm. With a horrific tearing sound, Iggy ripped the Tarkatan’s arm off at the elbow, spraying blood across her face and chest, and making the Tarkatan fall back with a wail.

“Enough!”

Erron glanced back at Shang Tsung as he descended the steps. His white eyes were ablaze with fury, but his face was a practiced mask of indifference. Iggy prowled back to Erron’s side, biting down on the arm to stop it from twitching.

“What happened?” Shang Tsung demanded as he strode forward.

“Not sure what prompted it, but the Tarkatan attacked the human and was planning on killing him.”

“Murder is not permitted on this island,” Shang Tsung glared down at the cowering Tarkatan. “Do you understand what you could have done, Tarkatan?”

“The human-.”

“I don’t care if the human threated to turn you into a slug; you are not to kill them outside of a Fourth Tier fight.” Shang Tsung set his shoulders and lifted his elegant head. “This behaviour will not be tolerated. I will not give Raiden the opportunity to cry foul at this crucial moment. You are disqualified from the Tournament.” He looked over his shoulder at the guards and beckoned one forward. “See to it that he is tended to, but he is not permitted anywhere near the arenas.”

“Right away, master,” the guard bowed before stepping past him to grab the Tarkatan and hoist him to his feet. “Come along.”

“You can spit that out,” Erron said as he looked down at Iggy.

Iggy looked up at him, completely unfazed by what he said. She gave a small shrug before curling around his legs like an oversized cat, looking at Shang Tsung expectantly. The Island’s Master dusted a speck of dirt off of his beautiful robes before nodding to Erron.

“Continue with your rounds, Black,” he said. “I will ensure that the Earthrealmer is taken to a healer. I would hate to give Raiden any excuse to bring the Elder Gods into this.”

“Will do,” Erron snorted before he started walking. “Iggy, come.”

Iggy followed him, Tarkatan arm in tow.

* * *

Sonya knocked the Edenian on his ass and smirked down at him. The kid was lying on his back and panting as if he’d just ran a marathon. She could see a woman in blue shaking her head out of the corner of her eye, but she was more interested in the kid. If he even tried to get back to his feet, she was bringing her foot down on his balls.

“Round two to Sonya Blade!” the flagman lifted his left flag. “Sonya Blade wins the fight!”

“Nice try, kid,” she said before she turned and hopped down from the platform.

She breezed past the spectators, wanting to have some alone time to check on her ankle. The brat had tried to trip her, but her boots had kept her from getting her ankles broken. That didn’t mean that they didn’t hurt like hell, though, and she wanted to make sure they weren’t going to shatter the instant she took the boot off. She wandered through the castle before finding a nice, quiet alcove to sit in.

The sun was broken by the swaying tropical trees, creating a beautiful mosaic across the floor. She braced her foot on the bench and started untying her laces. After a few minutes, she was able to extract her foot from the boot and peeled her sock back. Her ankle was tender to the touch, but it didn’t feel like she’d broken anything. Good.

She glanced up as someone stepped into the alcove and glared at the man. “Piss off.”

“Sub-Zero” gave her a flat look as he folded his arms across his chest. “Your fighting is going to get you killed,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

He flicked his hand. “You defeated an arrogant teenager that underestimated you, but that won’t happen in the next fight.”

“Well, no shit. I don’t bring the same strategy to every fistfight.”

“This is more than fist fighting, Sonya Blade,” Sub-Zero glared at her. “If you do not prepare yourself for tougher opponents, you will be killed.”

Sonya narrowed her eyes. “You think I’m some princess that doesn’t know how to stay alive?”

“You are a soldier. Were we on a battlefield, I would not doubt your abilities. You are not, however, on the battlefield. You are in a Mortal Kombat Tournament and your opponent will cripple you before ending your life. You are used to guns and it shows.”

Sonya looked the man up and down. He had to have a better reason to follow her than wanting to warn her. Anyone could have told her this. Raiden could have told her this. He was looking for something.

“Why are you here, Sub-Zero?” she asked.

“To make you an offer,” Sub-Zero’s eyes narrowed. “I will help you train. In return, you make it further than the Second Tier.”

“You’re offering to train me?” she lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“I do not make this offer lightly.”

Sub-Zero took a few steps closer before kneeling down and resting his hand against her ankle. She gasped at the frigid cold that soaked into her inflamed ankle. She watched a faint blue sheen overtake Sub-Zero’s eyes and a thin stream of condensation left his nose as he breathed. She closed her eyes, enjoying the chill against her skin.

“Beats a coldpack,” she murmured.

“It will not heal the injury; seek out one of the healers when your ankle has had time to hold your weight,” Sub-Zero said.

“Deal.”

She opened her eyes and looked down at him. She saw the flicker of confusion in his eyes before he nodded and offered her his left hand. She was momentarily insulted, but remembered that his right hand was currently pressed against her ankle. She grasped his left hand with hers and shook.

“I suppose we’re training tomorrow?” she asked. “So long as you don’t get your ass kicked.”

“I will not lose,” Sub-Zero’s lip twitched, but his face was unnaturally stoic. “And, yes, we begin tomorrow to give your ankle time to heal. I would rather not accidentally break it and disqualify you from participating in whatever grudge match you are interested in.”

She nodded and leaned back against the railing. She stretched her arms over her head, groaning as she made her back pop. She tipped her head back as she let her arms flop out to either side of her. Sub-Zero said nothing as he stood up. She met his gaze and he tipped his head a fraction of an inch to the side before he left. She touched her ankle, feeling the chill lingering on her flesh. It was no longer inflamed, but it was an unhealthy shade of white, like she’d decided to walk out into snow without shoes on.

She pursed her lips as she set her foot down on the ground and flexed her toes. Sub-Zero had an agenda, that was clear to her, but she wasn’t certain what it was. What did he have to gain from her continuing past the Second Tier? Was he hoping that he would be the one to kill her? That seemed like a really stupid reason to her, but she knew that nothing logical existed with some of the assassin clans that still hung out in their secret corners of the world. There was archaic and then there were the Clans.

She dozed for an hour, undisturbed by anything but the occasional bee that landed on one of the massive flowers that dipped around her. When she woke, she pulled her boot back on and headed for The Board. She ran her finger over the listings for the day and tapped a finger against Sub-Zero’s fight. Four P.M., Upper Courtyard. She glanced at her watch and set off at a brisk pace to make sure she got a good spot to watch Sub-Zero fight.

When she arrived, the guards were marking out where the audience could watch from. She kept to the outskirts, not sure if she should stand near the Earthrealmers or not. She was, regrettably, the only woman present representing Earthrealm and it did offer some small annoyances. Namely that the other men were a little too grab-happy to stand near. She could only knock out their front teeth so many times before they got the point and, judging by how she’d seen them act the last few days, they were not smart enough to get it on the first go.

“How’s the ankle?”

Sonya snapped her head around and blinked at the man smiling at her. She shifted, feeling a small pulse of pain up her leg, but nothing she couldn’t muscle through.

“Fine.”

“Good. Came to watch Sub-Zero?”

“Yes.”

“Great,” he chuckled before extending his hand. “I’m Cyrax, Sub-Zero’s superior.”

Sonya stared at the man. “ _Your_ Lin Kuei?”

The man, Cyrax, chuckled. “Yeah, I get that a lot. They expect the Chinese men, but they don’t expect the Black man.”

“I suppose that is good for a clan of assassins.”

“Well, we’re a little more than that,” Cyrax chuckled. “But, yes, it helps.”

“Has Sub-Zero mentioned his… deal with me?”

“Him training you? Yeah. Sektor is pissed, but he’s always pissed.”

Sonya didn’t bother pretending she was interested in who Sektor was. A shout drew her attention to the center of the courtyard and she watched one of the centaurs step into view. They looked strangely regal as they walked, head held high, horns wreathed in gold, and a thick belt tied around their waist. Their strange, scorpion-like tail lashed the air as they came to a stop in the middle of the courtyard.

The crowd cheered. Seeing a centaur in battle was going to be interesting.

She felt a wave of cold wash over her and shivered. She looked over her shoulder and stared as Sub-Zero approached. Of course, she believed it was Sub-Zero. It was hard to tell with his facemask in place and the costume. There was something dangerously beautiful about him, like an iceberg looming on the horizon or a glacier rumbling overhead. He walked with a purpose, shoulders back and head held high. His eyes were icy blue, narrowed under the edge of his balaclava. Condensation rose from his mask as he breathed, trailing behind him like a cape.

The crowd parted around him, staring after him as he passed. Sonya felt caught in his wake and had to dig her nails into the palm of her hand to keep her head on straight.

“That’s his fighting costume?” she asked.

“Impressive, right?” Cyrax chuckled. “His whole family know how to look breath-taking. Would you believe he designed that himself?”

“Talented,” she nodded.

She wasn’t sure what else to say. Cyrax looked ready to start gushing about Sub-Zero’s fashion sense and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Looking at Sub-Zero, though, it was hard not to be impressed; had he really done all that work by himself?

Sub-Zero stepped onto the raised platform opposite the centaur and bowed. The centaur did the same, bending their front legs so that their head was level with Sub-Zero’s. They rose with the same amount of grace before assuming fighting stances, ready to lunge as soon as the referee gave the signal.

“Round one. FIGHT!”

A line of ice shot ahead of Sub-Zero and he skated forward with shocking speed. Sonya’s mouth fell open as he attacked with the grace of a dancer but the savagery of a furious tiger. The centaur was not prepared for the attack, reeling as they were kicked and punched in rapid succession. It was less than a minute before the referee called the round done, awarding Sub-Zero the first round win.

“Excuse me,” Cyrax grinned before he hurried towards Sub-Zero. “Gotta give him a breakdown of the fight.”

Sonya nodded numbly, staring at Sub-Zero as he stood stoically at the edge of the platform. He knelt down as Cyrax approached, cocking his head to the side to listen to what his superior was saying. He probably had to strain to listen over the cheers of the crowd. It was the first real display of magic in the Tournament and they were awestruck. This was an Earthrealmer using magic, not an Outworlder. It was stunning.

Sub-Zero’s icy blue eyes flicked up and, somehow, across the massive distance, their eyes locked. His eyes crinkled in a smile as he rose to his feet. He turned around and stepped forward, waiting for the centaur to do the same. Sonya wasn’t sure why her heart was suddenly in her throat, but she had a very big, very terrifying thought.

She had developed a crush on Sub-Zero and it was because he had just beat the shit out of a centaur without taking much damage in return. What the hell was wrong with her?

* * *

Bi-Han waited for the referee to shout “fight” before he lunged again. The centaur was young, inexperienced, and he was going to take advantage of it. They managed to block his first strike, but they telegraphed their kick too much. He caught the front hoof and twisted, dragging the centaur along with him. He dropped down a few feet before slamming his shoulder up into the centaur’s chest. He knew he couldn’t hope to launch something the size of a horse into the air, but he could definitely unbalance them.

As he had hoped, the centaur was unbalanced, stumbling back with a wild look in their eyes. He had a limited knowledge of centaurs, but he knew that their behaviour was a constant struggle between primitive and sentient. If he could break down the barrier between the two, he could turn the fight completely to his favour. He had to be careful, though; a startled horse was much more dangerous than a furious human.

He went to step closer, but retreated as the centaur spun. Hooves the size of his head struck out at him. The weight of the centaur landing on those hooves shook the platform, almost knocking him off balance. He widened his stance, watching the centaur as they kicked frantically. He watched them approach and smirked, gathering his magic under his flesh.

He launched himself backwards, leaving an “ice clone” behind. The centaur kicked the clone and the ice shattered. It latched onto the centaur, freezing them in place. Bi-Han darted forward and slid under the centaur, twisting to face the terrified young fighter. He grabbed the centaur by the horns and twisted, slamming their head into the platform. The ice shattered as soon as the centaur’s head touched the wood, letting the rest of the body react to the movement and sudden stop.

The centaur collapsed in a heap at Bi-Han’s feet, their eyes practically rolling in their head. Bi-Han leaned down and rested a hand on their head.

“Yield,” he ordered.

The centaur managed to nod before closing their eyes. Sub-Zero stood up and lifted his fist in the air. The referee lifted a flag and shouted Sub-Zero’s victory to the crowd. The crowd started shouting and cheering, creating a commotion for his victory. He breathed deeply to slow his heartrate, looking out over the crowd.

It felt good. It was the first fight of many, but it felt good. The cheering and the victory rush felt right. He had spent the last few years training for this Tournament and had a lifetime of training before that. To find it coming to fruition at last was worth all the pain, sweat, and blood necessary to hone his craft.

If only there hadn’t been other sacrifices along the way.

He turned and bowed to Shang Tsung, waiting for the island’s master to dismiss him with a wave of his hand. He left the elevated platform, ignoring Sektor’s pointed look as he headed towards his room. He didn’t feel like having a lecture over what he should or shouldn’t have done to the centaur. He had won and he had suffered only superficial injuries. He’d be healed by the time his next fight came around and there was no reason to worry about “could haves” and “should haves.”

The shadows whispered around him as he made his way through the castle. The lowering sun threw shadows over most of the hallway, but he did his best to ignore their siren songs. He was Sub-Zero, son of Edda “Storm”, and grandson of Jhiang, the first Sub-Zero; he was a cryomancer of the purest pedigree and he would not succumb to the shadows.

Squaring his shoulders, he pushed the door to his room open. His communicator was flashing on his nightstand, the red light insistent and impossible to ignore. He walked to the device and picked up the earpiece, slipping it over his ear as he pulled his mask and balaclava off. How the Grandmaster had managed to get his hands on tech like this was beyond him, but it was best to never ask. People went missing in the Lin Kuei for lesser offences.

“Sub-Zero speaking,” he said.

“Hey,” his brother’s voice chirped over the line. “Did you win?”

Bi-Han smiled as he started taking his ceremonial armor off. “Did you have any doubt?”

“Never! But, you know, it’s always nice to hear that my big brother kicked someone’s ass!”

He chuckled as he set his armor on the stand, running his hand over the vest with reverence. “Well, I did beat up a centaur.”

“That’s so cool!”

“Less cool that they were a young centaur,” Bi-Han said as he bowed to his armor, letting the image of his mother’s smile pass through his mind’s eye. “I felt like a bully.”

“Oh.” His brother paused. “Don’t they take several hundred years to mature?”

“Possibly.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’m not a doctor, Tundra. I certainly wouldn’t understand how monster genetics and maturity worked just from a few musty old scrolls.”

“Oh.” Another pause. “I wish I was there with you.”

“This is no place for a trainee,” Bi-Han shook his head. “It’s dangerous.”

“And falling down a mountain isn’t?”

“You bounce.”

“Wow, fat joke, really?”

“Only if you want to take it that way,” he smirked as he sat down on his bed. “Besides, at least in Arctika you know what dangers to look out for. Do you know what to do if a viper bites you?”

“Uh, suck out the poison?”

“No, that’s a good way to make it worse. What you should do is have the antivenom on you and hope that you can get to a doctor fast enough to not die.”

“That seems anticlimactic.”

“It is, as it should be if you are dumb enough to disturb a creature that is trying to survive in a dangerous environment.”

“You take all the fun out of things, brother.”

“What, did you think it was party drinks and beach volleyball here?” he asked.

“Well, I knew it would be fighting. But, I mean, girls in bikinis, right?”

Bi-Han looked at the ceiling. That was such a bad attempt at hiding the fact that his brother liked men that anyone listening in on their conversation would be holding their head in their hands. They had to work on his lying when he got back home. He was never going to be able to do his job if he was that transparent.

“This is a dangerous place, Tundra. Even if you were a full-fledge Lin Kuei, I wouldn’t allow you to join me.”

“But-!”

“Tundra, listen to me. I’m not here for glory or honor or whatever bullshit the Grandmaster is spouting. I’m here because letting anyone else do this would be unacceptable. There’s a good chance I won’t come home.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Steel your heart, brother. It was always a possibility.”

“You’re the best fighter, Sub-Zero! No one can beat you! You’ll win the Tournament and-!”

“No,” Bi-Han shook his head. “If I win, I win on behalf of Outworld. If I win, everything we know and love will be destroyed to make way for Shao Khan. I can’t allow that.”

“So… what’re you going to do?”

Tundra sounded so small and young. It broke his heart, but it only cemented his resolve to keep Shao Khan from entering Earthrealm. He would not let anything harm his brother. He would kill anyone that tried to harm him, starting with the Grandmaster if need be. He would not allow his baby brother, his last family member, to suffer under Shao Khan’s tyranny.

“I’m going to fight until I find an Earthrealmer that has the potential to win this tournament,” he said. “Then, I’m going to do everything in my power to help them be ready for whatever Shang Tsung throws at them.”

“And you’ll come home?”

“I make no promises, but it will take a force of nature to keep me from returning home.”

He heard Tundra’s laugh on the other end of the line before it went dead. Bi-Han squeezed his eyes shut as he removed his earpiece. He hoped that Tundra was alright and that he hadn’t been discovered and punished for what Bi-Han was planning. He had to get back to his brother as quickly as he could. It was the only way to make sure he was safe.

* * *

Kuai Liang hid the earpiece in his nightstand as he heard a knock on the door. He hated that he had to cut his conversation with Bi-Han short, but he couldn’t risk anyone discovering that he had the earpiece. Only fully fledged members of the Lin Kuei were supposed to have the earpiece. If they found him with it, he would be punished.

“Hey,” Tomas’ voice whispered through the crack in the door. “I got sweets.”

“Tomas, you’re going to be in so much trouble,” Kuai Liang hissed as he hurried to the door and opened it. “Get in, you idiot.”

Tomas darted into the room and Kuai closed it as quickly as he could. They stood silently for a moment, listening fearfully for any of the guards to come prowling down the hallway. When they heard nothing, they grinned at each other.

With a small flourish, Tomas pulled the bag of sweets out of his pocket. They were jellies shaped like stars and Kuai Liang licked his lips eagerly at the sight. Tomas would have had to steal them from the Grandmaster’s personal stash. He was getting better at his thieving if he managed to pull this off without trouble.

“Are they poisoned?” Kuai Liang asked.

“Fed one to that mean dog that’s always following Crier around.”

“And?”

“It didn’t die so I’m assuming its safe.”

“Well, if we die, at least it will be by eating good candy.”

Kuai did his best to look stoic, but it was hard to do when Tomas was grinning like an idiot. He opened the bag and dumped a small helping of candies into Kuai’s hand. They “toasted” their hands before popping a candy into their mouths.

The sweet-sour flavour rushed over his tongue and Kuai almost started coughing. He chewed the jelly candy, loving the texture and taste. He wished the Grandmaster shared treats like this equally amongst the clan rather than keeping them for the elite. It wasn’t fair that they brought in large amounts of sweets, but refused to let “underlings” enjoy the treats.

“Have you heard from Bi-Han?” Tomas asked.

Kuai nodded. “He won his first fight.”

“I knew he would!”

“Ssh!”

“Sorry.”

Tomas ducked his head sheepishly, but his eyes gleamed eagerly. “Gosh, I wish I was there with him.”

“Me too, but Bi-Han says its not a place I should go.”

“He’s way too overprotective,” Tomas shook his head. “We’re going to be Lin Kuei by the end of the year. We can handle anything that old goat of a sorcerer throws at us.”

Kuai grinned in spite of himself. Hearing Tomas insult Shang Tsung was fun. He wished he was that carefree that he wasn’t afraid of punishment from some monster that had been alive for millennia. Personally, he thought the dead-eyed, ancient sorcerer was terrifying.

He did, however, understand Bi-Han’s worry. They were all they had left in the clan after Grandfather passed away two years ago. Bi-Han was an accomplished thief and assassin, which put a huge expectation on Kuai’s shoulders to be better than his brother. He wasn’t sure how he could ever be stronger than Bi-Han, let alone match his skill.

He glanced out the window, watching the snowflakes curl on the breeze. It was midsummer, but at this altitude, there was always the chance of snow. He didn’t mind; he liked the cold; but it made him miss Bi-Han even more. Bi-Han would be the first out in the snow, gathering as much of the white fluff as he could to arrange a snowball fight amongst the younger Lin Kuei. He wouldn’t care about what the elders said or fear the Grandmaster’s wrath; like Edda, he would strive to make sure the younger generation got to be kids, not just assassins in training.

Just thinking about her made his heart hurt. She had passed away when he was young. The wound was still fresh on his soul, even if he only had stories about his mother. Bi-Han didn’t seem to be aching as much, but he had always been better at hiding his emotions. Bi-Han was everything a cryomancer could hope to be; calm, cool, collected, and mysterious. Edda would have been beyond proud of him. He wanted to believe that the same could be said for him, but he had been young when she passed; did she even know what he would become at the tender age of two?

“Hey, no moping,” Tomas tugged on Kuai’s hair. “Stay in the present where we have sweets.”

Kuai swatted at his friend’s hand, forcing a smile to his face. “Dick.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Tomas grinned before he grasped Kuai’s shoulder. “He’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yeah,” he agreed before stuffing another candy into his mouth. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby Kuai Liang, rare-pair beginnings, and adorable, dangerous ferret-dragon. What more do you need in life?


End file.
